The Birthday Octave

Sigh.

Another candle on the cake. Technically, I’ve officially stopped counting. This makes the whole aging process seemingly less horrific then it truly is. And it is horrific. Whoever says “it’s just a number” hasn’t hit the magical age of 40 where parts of the body break, sag and atrophy at a rate that is staggering. I am not making this up. There is a reason trips to the plastic surgeon have increased for the 40-50 demographic. 


Despite my disdain for counting the actual birthday candles, I am a big fan of maximizing birthday celebration opportunities. And I like cake.

My brilliant BFF taught me all about the “birthday octave” wherein the birthday girl is allowed to partake in any and all celebratory occasions, gifts (either received by friends or self purchased), outings, special lunches, dinners, extra trips to Starbucks, new boots, any treats involving chocolate, wine, happy hours or spa services of any kind for a full 8 days before and after the actual birth date. Boys of course can take advantage of the octave, although I’ve never met one who does.

My husband thought he was being cute and witty when he hooked up the new washer and proclaimed “Happy Birthday”. He got the stink eye, a frosty response and a general proclamation that I wanted new dishes for my birthday. Go me.

So far my birthday octave includes one vacation day, 3 dates for cocktails/appetizers, 1 dinner out and a pedicure.

Clearly there is capacity for other Happy Birthday to me type of events. I definitely envision a new pair of boots folded into the mix, especially after the washing machine jab. And they are so richly deserved after the multiple treks to the Park Town Laundry during the 2 longs weeks that I was without a washer.

I think platform boot with the mega heel will look especially fabulous dangling off a barstool whilst sipping a Happy Birthday to me martini. The birthday octave is a stroke of pure genius!